


First Comes Love

by theskywasblue



Series: Inception Domestic AU [8]
Category: Inception
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-31
Updated: 2014-01-31
Packaged: 2018-01-10 15:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1161612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theskywasblue/pseuds/theskywasblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur surprises Eames with an idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	First Comes Love

It begins like any other Sunday morning. Neither of them have anywhere to be - Arthur stringently doesn’t allow the office to call him in on Sundays, and the bar is closed, so Eames never needs to worry - Eames is napping off a morning quickie, sandwiched snugly against Arthur’s side as he reads the newspaper, and he’s not entirely conscious, so he can probably be forgiven for not understanding what’s happening when Arthur says:

“I think I want to have a baby.”

Eames laughs, groggily, rubbing his stubble-rough face against Arthur’s ribs. “Well, darling, I am certainly willing to try as often as you like.”

He’s expecting another tumble in the sheets - twice in one morning is maybe a bit much; they’re not nineteen but that’s never stopped either of them from trying - but Arthur just says, “No, Eames - I mean...like, adoption, or something.”

For a terrible moment, Eames feels like he’s falling, like any second, he’s going to snap awake, and laugh that he had the strangest dream. When that doesn’t happen, he says the first thing which comes to his mind; which is, unfortunately, a dull, “Oh.”

He immediately knows that it’s the wrong thing to say, because Arthur’s face goes very flat, stony. Eames thinks of this, privately, as his litigation face, and it’s rarely a good thing to see pointed in his direction. Before Eames can formulate an apology - or even a half-reasonable follow-up question - Arthur slides out of bed and starts getting dressed.

So, Sunday morning ends with a whimper, rather than a bang, and there’s a distinct cold front rolling through the house for the rest of the day. By supper, Arthur is doing his best to pretend as if the whole conversation never happened, but Eames isn’t stupid; and anyway, it’s not hard to tell when Arthur’s faking a smile.

“It’s not that I’m against kids,” Eames tells Yusuf, the next afternoon when he’s wiping down the bar, getting ready for the evening rush; which, on a Monday night is going to be composed primarily of a handful of regulars and maybe a few stragglers who had a really awful day at the office.

“Don’t see why,” Yusuf responds, casual as anything. “I mean - why ruin all the lovely honeymoon stuff with a lot of screaming and dirty nappies?”

Eames lobs a stray peanut at his head. “Does two years still count as ‘honeymoon?’”

Yusuf smirks. “You still act like you’re on your honeymoon.”

Guilty, as charged. “It’s not all screaming and dirty nappies.” Eames protests; though, in fairness, it’s probably _a lot_ of screaming and dirty nappies.

Yusuf rolls his eyes and bends to pick up the peanut so he can lob it back. “What is it then?”

Eames shrugs. “Just love, I guess. Share the wealth.”

And he does love Arthur, there’s never been any doubt about that. It’s hard to imagine sharing him with some little, squalling, pink thing that can’t even hold its head up. But the image of Arthur with a baby in his arms is far from a bad one - he’d be a brilliant father: patient, and loving, but stern when he needed to be. Eames can’t take the opportunity away from him, knowing the world would be better off with children raised by Arthur in it.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Yusuf tells him. “You two wouldn’t be the worst parents.”

“Thank you, Yusuf, for that stunning vote of confidence.” Sadly, the peanut bowl is empty, so Eames has to refill it before he has anything to throw, and by then, Yusuf has moved himself expertly out of range.

It’s late when Eames gets home, but Arthur is still up, watching the late news broadcast. There’s some dinner left out on the counter, on a shrink-wrapped plate, which Eames eats quickly before joining Arthur on the sofa. Arthur smiles at him groggily, settling his feet in Eames’ lap across the cushions, and Eames rubs the arch of his foot with one thumb.

“I’ve been thinking…” he says, at last, once they transition from the weather into the sports report - nothing either of them care about; Arthur watches baseball on occasion, but it’s the off-season, and Eames only cares about _real_ football, not the American sort. “About what you were saying, yesterday.”

“It’s okay,” Arthur answers, immediately. “I shouldn’t have just thrown it at you.”

“I’m not _against_ the idea.” Eames feels like he should make this abundantly clear, as soon as possible. “It’s just that the whole idea is terrifying.”

Arthur actually laughs at that. “Okay, that’s fair.”

“And I never had a dad growing up, remember. What if I’m rubbish at it?” He can’t look at Arthur when he says it; instead, he holds his breath and watches basketball highlights. Arthur slides his feet out of Eames’ lap and sits up. They sit side by side for a moment, and then Arthur leans in, puts his arm around Eames’ shoulders, and kisses the side of his neck.

“You wouldn’t be rubbish.” He sounds amused, not worried. “I mean, you’re rubbish at a lot of things - spelling, for a start. Remembering to take the grocery list with you when you go shopping. Picking your boxers up off the bathroom floor…”

“I think I could do without a detailed list of my flaws, darling.”

Arthur kisses the space underneath his ear, then - ever so gently - mouths at his earlobe. It makes a chill go down Eames’ spine. “You would be a _fantastic_ dad, Eames. I have complete faith in you.”

He rests his chin on Eames’ shoulder, and waits to hear his answer. Eames has remarkably little trouble giving it.

“Alright,” he says. “Let’s try.”

Arthur is positively giddy as he climbs into Eames’ lap. He finds Eames’ hands and winds their fingers together, kisses him until both their lips ache.

“You know,” Eames laughs, when they finally break apart to breathe. “If there’s a baby in the house, we won’t be able to do this anymore.”

Arthur gets Eames’ lower lip between his teeth, biting down gently, then soothes it with a flick of his tongue. “Of course we will - we’ll just have to be more stealthy about it.”

He’s anything but as he opens the front of Eames’ jeans.

They make love by the glow of the television, and the next morning, after Arthur leaves for work, but before Eames’ shift starts at the bar, he spends a great deal of time on the internet, researching all the details of adoption.

**Fifteen Months Later**

It’s Sunday morning, and Eames is half-asleep. He can hear Arthur, on the other end of the baby monitor, humming a lullaby over the sound of Charlie’s soft burbles

After a few minutes, the monitor goes quiet. The lullaby comes down the hall, along with Arthur’s sock-softened footsteps and Eames rolls over onto his back so he can see Arthur as he comes in through the door. Charlie is tucked against his shoulder, there’s a bottle in his hand, and he looks as tired as Eames feels; but he also looks gorgeous in the late-morning sunlight - happy.

Eames smiles at him, and Arthur smiles back.

-End-


End file.
